Less Than Perfect
by Hermione Holmes
Summary: This story is different from others, as it is a more in depth analysis of Holmes's character as a modern university student. PG for slight swearing. Enjoy! Chapter 5 is finally up! COMPLETE!
1. Prologue

A/N- Right well, this is a totally new prologue. I was really dissatisfied with the soccer prologue, especially since it seemed so contrived and soccer has nothing to do with the story. Besides, getting hit with a soccer ball is rather common, if my reviews are any indication. How many people can say they've been hit with a- well, you'll see.

Anyway, I hope this is better, let me know. Also, tell me what you all think of Will and Mitra, and the plot, and my writing style. I'd really like some suggestions on improvement. Also, Mitra is based on Sara Rue's character on the ABC show "Less Than Perfect", and if there were ever a Sherlock Holmes movie to be made, I'd have Johnny Depp star in it, so Will is based on him. Anyway, enjoy!

Prologue

On an unusually mild day in late September, I would have loved to have been in the park, chatting with friends and eating a hot pretzel. Alas, but it seems that good days like these only ever happen on weekdays, when there are classes that need attending. So it was that on this perfect autumn day I was in a special senior's colloquium that met every other week. It was unbelievably boring, and the main point was for all of us to describe how our experiences at the university had changed our character.

Well, at least they really knew how to simultaneously waste everyone's time and achieve absolutely nothing.

My section consisted of ten people, an unusually small class size at our large university. I didn't know everyone there, but my friend and roommate, Vicky Johnson, a super feminist with a frown perpetually fixed on her face, was sitting next to me and keeping me company.

"…I mean, can you believe it? This renowned artist was actually suggesting that women aren't as smart as men, that there was some sort of genetic deficiency. So I wrote an irate letter to him and I sent it to _The Post_, but I'm not sure if they'll accept it, I sent it kind of late…"

I kept nodding and gazing out the window. The sun was shining, not a cloud was in sight, and the fallen, colorful leaves made the grounds look picturesque, like something you'd see in a brochure. I sighed longingly and turned around when the door opened.

Technically the senior advisors had to reside over these colloquiums, but they were smart, (hence them being professors), and instead sent their aides in their place. So it was that Frank the T.A., Dr. Kirschoff's aide in physical chemistry, came through the door.

Frank the T.A. was a very clean person, like the dad on "Leave it to Beaver". Every strand of hair was perfectly in place, his tie was never swung over his shoulder, and his back was as rigid as hardwood. He was also very intransigent and therefore easily disturbed.

This is important because it explains what he did when he entered.

He slammed the door behind him, stopped and took a deep breath, then stomped over to his desk at the front of the room. He smoothed down his hair, took out a few books from his bag, and then an angry expression passed over his features. We heard him mutter a few profane words in conjunction with one Will Hamilton, whoever he was. Then, in a fit of uncontrollable rage, he threw down his pencil. We all watched as it bounced on the eraser end and curved gracefully through the air in slow motion, flipping into a perfect arc and coming closer and closer to me…

"You're lucky it wasn't point first," Vicky said to me ten minutes later in front of the ladies bathroom. "And you're lucky it didn't hit your eye."

"Yeah, now I jud have a bleeding node," I retorted, holding a tissue to my face.

"Hey, don't get mad at me. It's that Frank," she said darkly. "You know Dr. Kirschoff only has him as an aide because he's a man? That lousy chauvinist-"

"Okay, Vicky, can we focud on me?"

"Look, Mitra, this isn't my fault, all right? You could have, you know, ducked. You had time."

I sighed and applied a fresh tissue to my nose. "I gued. Who'd thid Will Hamildon anyway?"

She shrugged. "He lives on the floor above us. Some people say he's a druggie, others think he's a genius, but, honestly, he's probably just a misogynist pig, like all men."

"Oh. Yeah, I can feel the pain coming in now, okay." I squeezed my eyes as they began to water.

The door next to us, which had been slightly ajar, opened then, and a tall figure wearing a lab apron, goggles, and a surgical mask appeared next to us.

"Erm, do you mind keeping it down?" He said in a deep, urbane British accent, which was slightly muffled on account of the mask. "We're working with sensitive equipment in the biochem lab here and your vibrations a-"

"Yeah fine," Vicky interrupted. "How many women are in that class, I'd like to know. Do I at least have permission to use the bathroom, mister man? Or do I have to ask pretty boy's professor?"

"I had no idea oversized goggles were considered attractive," the man said dryly when she had gone into the restroom.

"Vicky'd nod alwayd like thid," I said, but paused. "Well, okay, dad id a lie."

He focused on me and, though his goggles and my watering eyes obscured his eyes, it felt as though he were cutting right through me. "It's Mitra, isn't it?" He pulled down the mask as I nodded. "I couldn't help overhearing your conversation just now and I think I should apologize to you."

"Do me?" I asked, surprised.

"Er, to you, yes. You see, I had a bit of a row with Frank the T.A. this morning in physical chemistry. He wouldn't agree with me on the derivation of Schrödinger's wave equation and Kirschoff did. I think that's why he was in a bit of a temper in your class."

I slowly replied, "Okay, uh, um." That's when realization hit me. "Oh, you're Will Hamildon!"

"Hamilton, yeah." He nodded. "A tree that is unbending is easily broken."

"Huh?"

"I was referring to Frank."

"Whad doed he have do do wid a dree?"

"No, you see it's Lao Tzu, the Chinese…never mind. Are you really hurt?"

"Whad, you mean did?" I pointed to my nose and smiled genially. "No, no, I'm okay."

"Erm, right. Well, I have to go now, so, er, see you later." And with that he was gone.

Vicky appeared a few seconds later and glared at the biochemistry lab. "You know how few women are majoring in biochem throughout the country? And it's all because of egocentric male bast-"

"Here," Will said, emerging through the door again, this time with an icepack in his hand. "Don't worry, it's not contaminated, we put it in the other fridge." He turned to Vicky. "And don't say that all men are bastards, it's really overused. Try an original argument for a change." He shut the door in our faces and we walked off, my nose feeling some relief and Vicky fuming about our modern male-dominated society.

R&R please!


	2. Please Excuse My Dear Aunt Wendy

Chapter 1- Please Excuse My Dear Aunt Wendy

Sometimes the most profound events in our lives, the ones that determine our very futures, originate from the smallest, most trivial of matters.

What happened to me wasn't catastrophic, but the cause of it all was so absurd, so ridiculous, that it's almost too amazing to believe that because of it my life has changed.

It all started with the Buddha.

No, really, that's what got me involved. A four-inch bronze rendition of Siddhartha Gautama that had gone missing from my Aunt Wendy's house.

But let me start at the beginning.

Aunt Wendy, my mother's sister, is, to put it lightly, an eccentric connoisseur. She can usually be found traveling the country in search of flea markets and roadside stands so she can add to her assortment of souvenir bells, pre-1950's shot glasses, and those real stuffed animals with the scary glass eyes.

At this time of year though, she stays at home, just on the other side of the city, organizing her collection, occasionally popping in to give me one of her artifacts. For example, just last week she had come, driving her beat up old Geo, to show me the city newspaper, which had featured one of her collections. A photo had been taken of her in front of her bookcase, all 491 ceramic miniature cats surrounding her. She had been so happy, she had given one of the cats to me, along with sugar cookies and a mess of other things I hadn't bothered glancing at as I stuffed them under my bed.

So it was that at about five in the morning on a cold, cloudy October day, exactly five days after the pencil mishap, when I was snuggled nice and warm under my covers, that I received a call from her. Her frantic voice jolted me awake and I took off, (well, not really, since it was rush hour), in my car and arrived in thirty minutes.

There were a couple of police cars and an unmarked one outside her house, and a couple of officers were standing on the porch. Inside, it looked like a tornado had ripped through her living room. Chairs were knocked over, books were strewn everywhere, and some of her delicate collectibles had been smashed.

I stepped carefully over the debris and found her alone at the kitchen table, one of those old bridge tables from the sixties. She was hunched over, eyes runny, white and brown hair limp around her face. Tears were falling over her sallow cheeks and her hands trembled as she clutched the doily that had once been under the Buddha.

There is something strangely disconcerting about watching a forty-something divorcee cry over a crocheted piece of cloth.

"Oh, Aunt Wendy," I said softly. She turned, fixed me with a faraway gaze, and promptly burst into loud sobs. I sat down and tried to comfort her, but to no avail.

"Do they have any idea who did it?" I tried asking, but she wouldn't respond. After a while, she was able to speak. "Oh, Myra-"

"Mitra."

"-You're the only one who really cares about your dear old aunt."

"That's not true. What about mom?"

"Your mother hardly calls. I haven't seen the family in over a year." She let out a shaky breath. "I know they all think I'm wasting my share of the inheritance on what some would call 'useless' things. But this is all I have." She leaned forward, hunching over again. "They'll abandon the case after a week and where will that leave me?" She waved a limp hand around the kitchen. "An empty house with only some dead animals for company."

"I'm sure they'll do the best they can." Even as I spoke I realized she was right. They might even abandon the case in a couple of days, without bothering to hold out for an entire week.

Tears were rapidly running down her cheeks again. "Lord knows I never asked for much." She was sobbing uncontrollably, but kept speaking. "Mary-"

"Mitra."

"-If you love me, you'll do all you can to find out who did this."

"Um, Aunt Wendy, I'm not sure I'm allowed to do that."

She leveled her eyes at me.

I bit my lip. What she had said was true. Even I never visited as often as I should. Most of my family lived up north and regarded her as peculiar, if not something worse. And then a horrible thought occurred to me. What if this sort of thing were to happen to me when I reached her age? I could see myself in forty years with lackluster hair, sitting in a rocking chair by the fire, stroking one of my many cats, pulling a smelly shawl around myself, and muttering about MTV.

"Ok, Aunt Wendy." I patted her hand and spoke in a reassuringly confident manner. "I'll do the very best I can."

I mean, honestly, how hard could it be? If CSI was any indicator, the culprit would be the one person you'd never suspect. Now I just had to find that person and voila! One solved case, and right before dinner.

The kitchen door opened then and in walked two plainclothes detectives. One was a sturdy middle-aged man who walked with a slight swagger. The other one was a skinny guy with wide eyes who looked like he was barely out of the Police Academy.

"And you are?" The older one barked.

"Mitra. Townsend. I'm her niece." I tried to smile amiably but he scowled it away.

"Captain Anderson. This is Lieutenant Stoker." I held out my hand but only the lieutenant shook it.

"Could you tell me what's going on? My aunt hasn't told me much."

The lieutenant hurriedly flipped open his notebook and was just about to read from it when the door opened again, revealing a tall, striking young man with disheveled brown hair and clear gray eyes.

"Hope I haven't missed much, Captain. I only just got your call."

"You're Will Hamilton right?" I said suddenly, barely recognizing him without the goggles and mask.

He turned and raised his eyebrows as he noticed me. "Hello again, Mitra. I see your nose is healing nicely. It's very good of you to come support your aunt."

I shrugged. "Well, I am the only family she's got." I paused, frowning. "But how did you know I'm her niece?"

He opened his mouth to answer when the captain abruptly cut him off.

"I am so glad that you've made yet another wonderful deduction," he said sarcastically. "Now I've got a homicide to get to in ten minutes. Lieutenant."

Stoker began firing off his notes in a most dutiful television-police-officer-like-manner.

"Ms. Whitner, aged forty," his eyes flicked over to her briefly, "heard noises at around three o'clock on the morning of-"

"All right lieutenant, I think we know about that."

"Um, right." He glanced at us and plunged in again. "Upon arriving in her living room she discovered the area in disarray. The following items were later discovered missing: a porcelain figurine, a bronze statue of the Buddha, and a pen."

"Simon Le Bon once used that pen," Aunt Wendy said in a dejected tone.

"From Duran Duran, really?" The lieutenant said, momentarily dropping his professional manner.

The captain cleared his throat impatiently.

"Right." He continued quickly. "The victim proceeded to the telephone and dialed 911. Do you need the transcript that followed sir?"

"No, lieutenant," Will cut in, rolling his eyes, oblivious to the glares the officers were sending him. He sat down next to my aunt and spoke gently. "Ms. Whitner. I need to know what specific noises you heard when you awoke."

Aunt Wendy gulped her tears and looked at him. He took out a mini-pack of tissues from his pocket and handed it to her. "Thank you," she said, blowing her nose rather loudly. "Well, I was startled awake at around three, by a noise that sounded like a CRASH!" She smacked the table for emphasis. "I thought it was just some thunder, so I went downstairs to check that the windows were all shut. Antiques rot with moisture, you know." Will nodded as though she were simply telling him about the finer points of badminton. "And when I got there, I saw someone, all dressed in black, by the bookshelf. Whoever it was ran off, just as I screamed, through the open kitchen door, which I know I had locked before going to bed."

He nodded thoughtfully and began tapping his foot on the linoleum. The captain and lieutenant leaned forward and looked at him anxiously. Finally he sighed and stood up.

"I'm sure the living room has no clear footprints now, what with the number of people who have walked around. But I'll go see it, along with the lawn." He walked out of the kitchen.

The captain straightened up. "Well, Ms. Whitner, I'm sure he- uh, _we_ will find whoever did this. Now, if you'll excuse us-"

"Wait," I said, remembering my promise.

He glared at me but I resolved that I would not be deterred. "Do you have any suspects?"

"No, but when we do we'll give you a call."

"Oh, thank you."

He stared at me for a second and I realized he was only being sarcastic. He had turned away when I spoke up again. "Hang on, Captain." I followed him out of the kitchen and into the backyard. "Listen, I really am worried for my aunt and I'd just like to know what's going on with this case."

"Look Ms. Townsend, to be honest, this is probably the work of some antiques thief."

"Oh good, so you have a lead."

He scrunched up his bulldog face. "Look, missy, I've got better things to do than listen to your questions." His face cleared suddenly. "You want some information?" I nodded. "You know Hamilton. Go talk to him. I'm sure he'd let you in on his investigation." The lieutenant snorted. "And tell him if he doesn't cooperate, you're going to nag the captain, and the captain doesn't like getting nagged." With that rather unfriendly remark, he walked off to his car.

I went off in search of Will, finding him in the azalea bush by the side of the house. He was kneeling in the mud, back to me, staring intently at the ground.

Might as well break the ice if we were going to work together.

"Too bad the frost came in so early this year."

He jerked his head up and stood. "Erm, yes. Is there something you need?"

"Not really."

"Okay." He stood looking expectantly at me. "You're still here."

"Oh, don't let me disturb you," I said quickly. "In fact, just pretend I'm not even here."

"But you are here," he said slowly.

"Oh, sorry. Would you rather I moved over there a bit?"

He breathed deeply with impatience and said, "Mitra, what are you doing here?"

"Okay, look, I need some answers about all of this. I promised my aunt I'd help out anyway I could, but the captain won't speak to me and he referred me to you."

He raised an eyebrow. "Did he now?"

"Yes. But I swear I won't get in the way. So just, you know, go on and investigate." I gestured to the ground and smiled encouragingly.

He stared at me. "You're not serious."

"You can tell when I'm not. I can't lie effectively."

He let out a sharp burst of laughter. "This is incredible."

"I know. My brothers can lie really well; I have no idea why I can't."

A faint smile was forming on his lips. "So you're just going to hang around while I solve this case."

I shrugged. "I don't exactly have the expertise to unravel it by myself."

Apparently that sort of encouragement was what was needed, as he shook his head and spoke after a while. "Fine, I'll humor you. Just don't, erm, don't do anything. Let me handle this my way"

"No problem, partner," I said, smiling.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Hang on, Mitra, let's get something straight right now. I'm sure you're very intelligent and all, but I don't work with partners."

"Associate then?"

"No, it still sounds permanent." Not one to mince words, our Will Hamilton. "How about…erm…temporary assistant?"

"Temporary colleague."

"Very well."

I held out my hand, but he turned around without noticing it and continued his search as though nothing had happened.

After he had done with the azaleas and gone to the kitchen door, I stepped up to the plants and looked closely at them. Nothing really out of the ordinary. There was mud on the ground, with a jumble of footprints all around. No telling where one ended and another began. I hurried as he entered the house again.

In the living room he carefully stepped over pieces of broken glass and ceramic, turning this way and that, all the while concentrating on the ground. Finally, he went over to the bookshelf and looked intently at the books strewn all around it. I walked cautiously over to him. Aunt Wendy had quite a collection of old, obscure books, most of them encyclopedia sets from the last fifty years. I bent down to pick one up when Will exclaimed, "Don't touch anything!"

I jumped up. "Sorry," I mumbled apologetically.

He looked at me in disbelief. "Unless you want to be convicted for this crime, keep your fingerprints to yourself."

I nodded. "Right, right. Sorry."

He muttered something under his breath. After a while he said "Hm," and made off for the kitchen.

"Ms. Whitner?" My aunt looked up from her doily. "I think I've made some progress. I only need to check out a few things. Would it be too much to ask for an inventory of your various collections? I'm sure Mitra can pick it up sometime."

She nodded wordlessly. I, for one, was bewildered. There were really no clues I could see. How he had arrived at any sort of conclusion I could not fathom.

We said goodbye to my aunt and walked in silence to our respective cars.

"Would you fancy some coffee?" Will asked, getting into his Jag. "Waking up so early in the morning doesn't agree with me."

I accepted his invitation, rather surprised at his suddenly friendly gesture, and followed him in my humble, but fuel efficient, Civic.

A big thanks to Haley Macrae, for giving me a first great review. I had a soccer ball hit me on the nose in high school too. It didn't bleed, but it hurt like hell. And thanks for wishing me luck on my exams. Also, thank you Pinkpanther, for that encouraging review. I'm glad you find this intriguing. Finally, thank you Ed-Wood. I'm glad to meet another Johnny Depp fan. I've based Will on him by the way.

R&R Please!!


	3. Conversation Over Coffee

Chapter 2- Conversation over Coffee

We silently sipped some Grande Raspberry Gingerbread Mocha Cappuccino, (or something to that effect), in a posh coffee house downtown. During this time, I was able to observe the enigmatic Will Hamilton.

He was quite tall, although his height was accentuated by his leanness. He had a sculpted, pale face, with a firm mouth, straight nose, and defined jaw line. His eyes were a sharp gray color, light and intense, almost like crystal, and his short, dark brown hair had a spiky, tousled appearance. A long black wool coat hung on the back of his chair and he was wearing gray pajama pants and a black long sleeved t-shirt that advertised some pub in London- like me, he hadn't had time to dress. There was also light stubble forming on his cheeks and chin. He must have been really dedicated to his work if he had just rushed over.

Which reminded me... what did he do? I knew he was a full time student, so how could he manage working for the police? It could be an internship. Then again, maybe he was in training to become a detective on the force. That could explain it. But he hadn't seemed subordinate to the officers-

"I don't work for the police."

I was startled out of my musings and nearly spilled my coffee. "How'd you know what I was thinking?" I asked, imagining him to be some sort of mind reader.

He smiled a bit and explained, "I noticed you glancing at me for a while. Then, you frowned, and I knew you were pondering the inevitable question of how I had wound up with the police. Naturally, you went for the most obvious, and I saw you taking a glimpse at that poster across the street that offers internships on the Hill. But that didn't seem to satisfy you, as you didn't think an intern would be allowed to handle a case. You were thinking what other role I could play when I broke into your thoughts. Simple," he added, sipping his coffee.

"Wow," I said, genuinely astonished. "I'm…amazed."

An unconvincingly modest look passed over his features. "Nothing to it."

"So, what do you do?"

"I am…an unofficial consultant, I suppose." He smiled ruefully. "I don't even get paid."

"You do all this for fun?"

"I suppose it is fun. Amusing anyway. Captain Anderson provides me with these intellectual stimulants every so often. It keeps me occupied. It's good practice too. I plan on getting my license some day, but for now…" He trailed off and waved his hand vaguely.

"'Intellectual stimulant'. That's what it was when you figured out I was there for my aunt?"

He nodded, obviously enjoying the interest I was showing in his methods. "That you are Ms. Whitner's niece, I deduced from the photograph hanging on her refrigerator. There was one boy in the snap, obviously her son, so she had no daughter. You were her next of kin; why else would you be there? Therefore, you had to be her niece." He paused, grinning mischievously. "Besides, I heard you telling the captain that before I entered the room."

I rolled my eyes and laughed. "Well, that doesn't seem too hard."

He cocked his head at me and I realized he might be a bit put out by my rather dismissive comment. "Really. You think so?"

"I don't mean to say that it's child play, but it's just connecting the dots isn't it?"

He shrugged and nodded towards a woman seated at the counter. "What can you tell me about her?"

She was young, maybe in her twenties, with frizzy red hair and enormous glasses. A large steaming mug was in front of her, she was reading Thoreau's _Walden_, and a black, fingerless glove was on her left hand.

"Oh, come on Will. That's not fair, she's too far away. I can't tell anything about her."

"Really? I can make five deductions right now."

"Okay fine. Umm…" I squinted. "She's just out of college."

"Uhuh."

"And, ah, she's single."

"Go on."

"She has a cat or something. And she has a cold. Hope it's not the flu," I added.

"That would be bad," he acquiesced.

"And she's a…librarian who…enjoys playing squash," I concluded, turning back to him with a smile, confident that I was right.

"Very good Mitra," he said, nodding in approval.

"Thank you. All in a day's work," I said, bowing my head and beaming.

"Too bad you're wrong," he remarked, taking a bite of a Danish pastry.

"What?" I exclaimed.

"Well, you aren't completely wrong. She has been out of college for a while, so I'll give you that."

"And everything else?"

"As for the other points, she has a significant other, as she's wearing a man's jacket and has a ring on her right ring finger. She is allergic to dogs and her boyfriend, or whatever he is, has a German shepherd. You can tell from the hairs on her jersey and the color of her nose. She came here early to escape from those allergies. And that glove is worn by people suffering from Carpal Tunnel Syndrome, usually as a result of typing too much, so I would venture to say she's some sort of a computer programmer."

"Wow," I said intelligently.

He smirked. "You're right. Not so hard."

"Okay, so I was wrong," I muttered, but then I rallied a bit. "But you could be wrong too. You can't know for sure, can you?"

In answer, Will silently gazed at the woman. A man had come up and kissed her, then had taken her gloved hand and begun to massage it. I hazarded a glance outside. The biggest German shepherd I have ever seen was tethered to a streetlight in front of the coffeehouse door.

"It was a brave first attempt," Will said in a slightly mollifying tone. "You might improve with practice."

"You think so?"

"Sure." He shrugged. "Anyway, let's get down to business. What did you think of the scene?"

"I didn't see any clues and I can't see how you could have found anything. There were no distinct footprints by the azaleas-"

"Actually, there was something significant there." At my bemused expression he continued. "There were two spots that were sunk in more than the rest of the ground, so there must have been some heavy weight there. Or, in this case, a person had stood there for quite a while, probably waiting until your aunt went to bed."

"Okay. That makes sense. But what about the living room? You seemed fascinated by it."

He traced the top of his coffee cup with a long, tapered finger. "It is only a hypothesis. Once I have that inventory from your aunt I will know if I am right or not."

I tried to draw out of him what he thought had happened, but he clammed up about the case. Instead, he began talking to me about the cinematic techniques of the late Japanese director Akira Kurosawa, of all things, when his cell phone rang. He jumped up, nodded to me, and hurried out, leaving me with the bill.

Thank you to all my reviewers. Mierin-lanfear, I was a bit worried that it actually would be tedious and hard to read, so thank you for your encouragement. Anna, I like "A Perfect World" too and I'm flattered that you would compare my story with that. And, finally, Ed-Wood, I'm really pleased that you like this story so much, although I'm not sure if anything will really happen between Will and Mitra- not in this story anyway. By the way, my computer's not working properly and I'm stuck in a blizzard, so I can't get to a computer to review your story, (or anyone's for that matter), but I wanted to say that I liked your new chapter. Keep it up!

Right, so R&R please!


	4. An Enlightened Fellow

Chapter 3- An Enlightened Fellow

I had decided, rather late in my sophomore year, that I would major in psychology. My previous choices had been biology and English, but…well, I won't go into those fiascos. Psychology, however, was an immensely interesting subject and most of my professors were very helpful.

That semester I was taking Social Psychology, a two hour class that met twice a week in the largest lecture hall, and it was, undoubtedly, my favorite class.

"This is an important point in human behavior- we are more likely to follow someone if we consider them attractive or overall moral and good. Studies have shown that persuasion may be done in a more subtle way than just by talking…"

"Oy, Mitra, move your things, will you?"

I whirled around to see Will sitting down next to me, placing a Sprite bottle on the table.

"You're not in this class," I whispered as I moved my books.

He flashed his pearly whites. "Can't I just be here to visit my new temporary colleague in crime?" He made a face. "Doesn't have the same ring to it, does it?"

"How'd you know I was here anyway?"

"Magic." I rolled my eyes. "Well, your roommate Monique did help a bit." He took a sip of his Sprite. I silently marveled at his ability to consume large quantities of sugar and caffeine with apparently no effects on his waistline or skin.

"You owe me an explanation. And thirteen fifty."

"Thirteen fifty?"

"Yes. For coffee, remember?"

"Well, that must be the total. How much do _I_ owe?"

"Thirteen fifty," I replied obstinately.

He sighed and took out a few bills from his wallet. "Keep the change."

I felt hot breath on my neck as someone leaned over from behind and hissed, "Sh!"

"Sorry, Malcolm," I mumbled, growing silent for a while. Malcolm Austen, a senior, very intelligent and easily annoyed.

Will appeared unruffled and continued as though nothing had happened. "Has your aunt sent that inventory yet?"

"Here. I got it by courier this morning."

"Couldn't she have emailed it?"

"I don't think she's discovered the Internet yet," I replied slowly. "If she had, her house would be a lot more cluttered than it already is."

Will raised an eyebrow and glanced over the list. "Why has she color coded this?"

I smiled modestly as I took down some notes. "No, that was me. I figured it would be an easy reference if we knew when she had purchased certain things. See? Blue is for within the last ten years, yellow for a couple of years ago, green for really recent-"

He stared at me as though I had lost my mind. "Dear God."

"What?"

He shook his head and turned back to the list.

"…If you open the text to page one hundred sixty, you will find a picture of that particular study, along with statistical graphs…"

"Tibetan prayer beads. Happy Meal toys. Your aunt has very…erm…eclectic tastes."

"There's a reason why her neighbors call her 'Weird Wendy'."

Malcolm leaned over again and whispered fiercely, "Do you mind?"

Will remained stoic, but the irritated tapping of his fingers on the tabletop told me he was running out of patience.

"…Now, the Milgram experiment was very interesting in the way it analyzed obedience. Subjects were required to shock a victim, and many did, with interesting side effects, such as…"

"Hey," I whispered, leaning over to Will again. "Where did you go to all of a sudden yesterday?"

"The commissioner called. He wanted me on another case, but I told him it would have to wait," he replied casually.

"The commissioner?" I said incredulously.

"Well, former commissioner anyway," he replied, flipping a page.

I gaped at him. "And you're okay with that?"

"I find it's best to concentrate fully on one case before moving on."

"No, I mean, well, most people don't get personal calls from the former police commissioner. How do you know him?"

He squinted his gray eyes at me, and I felt as though he were methodically searching through me, treating me like one of his cases. "This is me we're talking about," he said finally.

"Right, right."

I felt hot breath again as Malcolm snapped, "Shut up!"

Will turned around and replied in a refined manner, "Bugger off." That stopped him.

"Ah," Will exclaimed softly a little while later, circling something on the list. "Just as I had suspected."

"What?"

"Your aunt has dishes from the eighteenth century."

"So?"

"They are in her house."

I nodded slowly. "Okay."

He stood abruptly then, and, before I could say anything, left.

There was still an hour left of class when my cell phone rang. Horribly embarrassed, I ran out of the lecture hall as the professor paused in his speech.

"I am at your aunt's house."

"How'd you get this number?"

"Again, Monique. Anyway, do you remember the dishes I mentioned?"

"You're disrupting the lecture to talk to me about dishes?"

"Focus Mitra. My point is that it was an odd collection of things that were taken from the house. Especially when your aunt has rare dishes that are worth over two thousand dollars."

I paused in shock. Who knew junk could be valuable? "Really?"

"Yes. That shows that this isn't the work of some antiques thief."

"So what was he looking for?"

"Exactly what we need to find out. I'll see you here in ten minutes."

"What? But Will-" Too late. He had hung up.

He let me in when I arrived.

"Your aunt just left for groceries. She was saying something about juice."

"Did she say she was getting cranberry?"

"I don't know."

"How about grape?"

"Who cares," he said impatiently. "Now, I've been looking at this." I followed him to the living room, which my aunt had been allowed to clean up, so that everything was back in its musty place. "Everything that is missing is completely random. The only reason to steal an ordinary Buddha and a pen would be to throw us off his track."

"Like a red herring."

"Erm, exactly, red herring, right. Now, what could he have been looking for?" He began pacing around the room. "He comes through the kitchen, after making sure your aunt is asleep, and enters the living room. He was pretty much in this vicinity." He waved a hand towards the bookshelf. "And he began to-" Will suddenly stopped and his eyes grew wide.

"Began to what?"

"In-this-vicinity," he said slowly, stepping up to the bookshelf. Suddenly, he jumped up and shouted "How can I be so damn thick!" His eyes were shining with excitement as he turned to me. "You saw how the books were strewn everywhere. The books, of all things! He had thrown them around, looking for a particular one, and had smashed around a few other things in his frustration, then grabbed whatever was nearby when he heard your aunt coming down."

"Good job!"

"Naturally," he said, taking a sip of his Sprite.

"So he wanted a book?"

"Evidently. But why? I checked them, they weren't that valuable. They're not even rare."

"There might have been something in them. Maybe."

He turned slowly toward me. "Brilliant! Really Mitra, you're coming along rather nicely."

"Thanks."

He smiled drolly. "I think my own genius is rubbing off on you."

"You wish," I scoffed.

He suddenly turned thoughtful. "This may be off course, but do you know where your aunt got these books?"

"I think from King's on M. Why?"

"I knew it! There was an attack there two weeks ago. Place completely ransacked and one assistant severely injured."

"You're saying these are connected?"

"Of course. Whoever wants this book has been tracking it down. You've marked these books orange on the list, so she got them…"

"Three weeks ago."

"So far we're on the right track." He paused. "But then, how would he know it was _here_ of all places? Unless he saw this address in their records. But why wait for so long to come here?"

I frowned in thought and let my gaze wander the room. He was right- how could anyone know what was in my aunt's house? It was all a jumble of old campaign buttons and china cats.

Wait a minute. China cats…

"Last week _The_ _Post_ published an article on my aunt with her miniature cats," I said, realization dawning on me.

"What an honor," Will said dryly.

I shook my head, excited now. "They took a picture of her, right in front of this bookshelf."

He looked at me with an expression of comprehension. "Excellent Mitra. You are really outshining yourself today."

I smiled and blushed. "Thanks."

"So he saw that book in the paper. Now, let's see if he has what he wanted." He leapt up to the bookshelf and began rummaging about. A minute later, he spoke up in a bewildered tone. "Strange, _two_ books are missing. Volumes eight and eleven of the Encyclopedia of Miniature Art."

"And so the plot thickens."

"Mitra, I really think it's time you stopped watching clichéd police dramas."

"Right."

"Anyway, he hears your aunt coming and he grabs a few things along with the two books he hasn't been able to peruse." He frowned. "One book I could believe, but a time pressed thief grabbing _two_? Two that are apart from each other? Doesn't seem likely. Did your aunt buy the complete set?"

"Yeah."

"Do you know if she gave a volume to anyone?"

"I don't think so."

"If you were him, would you take one or two?"

"One."

"That settles it. But, even if we say he's really daft, the question remains: where are these books?" He threw himself on the couch beside me and began tapping his fingers on his knees. "Not a single fingerprint. One generic fiber was found that could belong to anyone in the world." He sighed, irritated, and ran a hand through his hair. "If only we knew what he was looking for." He paused. "And why _two_ books? He might as well have taken all of them for all the sense that makes."

"Yoo-hoo, I'm here," Aunt Wendy called from the kitchen. She emerged in the living room a few minutes later. "Well, you kids figure it out?"

"Nearly there, Ms. Whitner," Will replied with that charm he could turn on and off like a light switch. "We just need the missing link." He stood suddenly. "Would you, by any chance, know what was in volumes eight and eleven of the Encyclopedia of Miniature Art?"

My aunt shrugged. "Never bothered opening them."

Will sighed in frustration.

"They missing too?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Well, just so long as I get my Buddha back."

"We're trying Ms. Whitner."

"You think this has something to do with these book?"

We nodded.

"I hope you find them." She paused before entering the kitchen. "Oh no, wait, I think I remember." She nodded. "Yes, I gave one away to, let's see, it was either Millie Bradshaw, Lisa Turner, or Kendra James. I'm so bad with names you know. But they're all in my sewing club. Or was it my book club?"

A/N: Sorry for the abrupt ending. I had to break one extremely long chapter into two, so I had to stop somewhere. Anyway, thank you to all of my reviewers: Ed-Wood, I'm glad you found Will impressive, although I realized rather belatedly that impressive can lead to boring. I hope you found this chapter to be somewhat more exciting. Haley Macrae, I figured that Will/Holmes, when in a hurry, wouldn't be bothered by a bill. Glad you found it funny. Again, I should apologize for the dullness of the previous chapter. I just hadn't realized it until I saw it up on the website. Maybe I'll change it, who knows. And Anna, so glad you found the new prologue to be better. The soccer thing felt like a cop out, so I tried for something more original and something that would bring more appeal for the characters. Thanks for saying it was written better too, although I think I could have done better than that. Anyway, thank you everyone!

R&R!


	5. The Weakest Link

Chapter 4- The Weakest Link

Will practically pushed me to the door once I had gotten down the addresses of the women.

"We can take my car," he offered, once we were on the pavement. "It's faster."

"But I know the city," I protested.

"So do I."

I tried not to laugh. "Really, Will, that's kind of impossible. I've lived here for almost four years and you just arrived a few months ago."

"The city is built on a grid system, Mitra. It's not that hard."

"Right, sure. Look, I know shortcuts, okay. Come on."

He pursed his lips in irritation but finally complied.

Ten minutes later, we found ourselves stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic as rush hour began.

"Know all the shortcuts," Will muttered, irritated, checking his watch and tapping his fingers on his knee.

"I'm really sorry. I didn't think it would be this bad."

"Can't you just use the shoulder to speed ahead a bit?"

"There's a cop right there."

He ran a hand through his hair, making it more disheveled. "We might as well have taken the Metro. Why are there all these people here anyway?"

"Well, there are a lot of tourists."

"This place is dirty and dangerous. There are politicians running around in the city, for God's sake."

I decided to draw him out into some other conversation. "Is it this bad in England too?"

"Appalling traffic is universal Mitra, whether you're in the land of rickshaws or lorries," he replied sagely.

"True. Well, don't worry Will. We'll get there. Eventually."

We did get there, a full forty minutes later. Mrs. Bradshaw was a short stiff woman with curlers in her hair. She offered us coffee, which we readily accepted, and she then proceeded to tell us that my aunt had given her no such book. She also told us, rather huffily, to please tell Wendy that she had seen that article in the _Post _about the ceramic cats and would we please remind her that two of those cats were hers and could she please have them back.

It was late afternoon when we visited Ms. Turner, a sprightly woman with choppy hair and no eyebrows, who lived in Adams Morgan with her two dogs. She was a painter, as evidenced by the clutter of brushes and tubes all around her studio. She also said that Wendy had not given her any book, but that she could do a nice portrait of us for a low price. We told her we'd get back to her on that.

Will was starting to get annoyed, I could tell. If this final person, Kendra James, didn't have the book either, we would be at a complete dead end. I tried to comfort him as best as I could.

"Don't worry Will. I'm sure we'll find that book. Besides, this is kind of fun. Two detectives, on the road, gathering clues, you know."

He snortedandleaned back in his seat, trying to stretch out his long legs in my small car. "I've never known anyone as insanely optimistic as you Mitra. You'd still be smiling in the wake of a real catastrophe."

"Um…"

He opened his eyes and glanced at me. "I meant that as a compliment."

"Oh," I replied. "Well, I guess that's the only kind of compliment you're capable of giving."

"Oh, really Mitra, don't be ridiculous," he answered in a mockingly hurt voice. "I'm really very considerate."

"Please Will, I'm trying to concentrate on driving. Don't make any jokes now."

The corner of his mouth turned up slightly and he began muttering about my "wicked sense of humor".

Mrs. James lived in a nice villa style house a few blocks from Embassy Row. A Mexican maid answered the door and, after a bit of confusion, (mostly on my part), Will, who spoke passable Spanish, was able to learn that Mrs. James was attending her former third grade teacher's funeral. We got the address of the cemetery and were soon there. The sun was lowering over the tombstones as we walked toward a group of people standing around an open grave. The coffin hadn't been lowered yet and we thought it prudent to wait a little way off before trying to find her.

Will sat on a gravestone and I rubbed my hands together to keep warm. My cell phone rang suddenly and I walked off to answer it.

"Aunt Wendy? What is it?"

"Oh Sitara-"

"Mitra."

"-I am so glad I caught you. I just remembered, whileI was dusting up, about that book, the one your friend wanted?"

"Yeah."

"I didn't give it to anyone from my clubs. I gave it to you."

I frowned, silently wondering if my aunt should be on medication for her obvious senility. "What are you talking about?"

"Remember, when I came to your dorm to show you that article? I gave you sugar cookies and one of the ceramic cats and that book. Anyway, I have to go. My shows are on. Bye!"

I walked back to Will with an exaggerated smile on my face. "Well." I laughed. "Funny thing actually."

He looked at me expectantly. "I could use a laugh."

"Okay, it's not very funny."

"All right then, I could use a cry," he returned impatiently. "What is it Mitra? What did your aunt want?"

"How did you? Never mind. Well, you remember that book," I began slowly.

"That book. The one that holds the key to this entire case. The one we've spent an entire afternoon searching for? Yes, I think I know about it."

"Well, it seems that, ah, well, it seems that it's actually in my dorm room. Ha ha. You know, it is kind o-"

He stared at me. "What."

"It's under my bed. In a bag. Next to some moldy cookies and a fake cat. I'm really sorry."

He breathed deeply and gave me a beatific smile as we walked back to the car. "That's all right, Mitra. Mistakes happen, we're only human, et cetera, et cetera. But, for the record, I retract that statement I had made earlier about you outshining yourself."

I opened my mouth to protest but then thought about it. I shrugged. "Fair enough."

I am so glad that I had cleaned up the day before. A clean room is a happy room, my cousin Debbie always says. She's really not as crazy as one might think.

Will bounced on his heels restlessly as I took out the book, which turned out to be volume eleven, from under my bed. He hurriedly snatched it from me, murmured an apology for giving me a paper cut, and began rifling through it.

And out came a small sliver of metal.

"Ha!" Will shouted mirthfully, a broad genuine grin spreading over his features.

"Oh wow," I laughed. "What is it?"

He paused to inspect it. "A bookmark."

"Oh."

We stood in silence, looking at it. He held it up to the light. "There doesn't seem to be anything significant about this," he said, unable to mask his disappointment.

"Maybe it's some sort of code?" I said hopefully.

"It's Care Bears."

"I always thought those bears were evil."

He sat down on the edge of my bed and stared at the bookmark, willing it to reveal its secrets. "What else could he have wanted?"

My face contorted with sympathy and I picked up the book he had dropped in his excitement. An envelope fell out.

"Unless he has what he needs?"

"Uh, Will?"

"There really is no chance of catching him now. The git couldn't even leave one tiny shred of DNA."

"Will, I think this is it."

"Damn i-. What did you say?"

I pointed to the envelope. Slowly, he rose and picked it up gently by a corner. "There's something inside. Do you have a plastic baggie or something?"

"Is that blood on the flap?" I whispered, handing him a Ziploc bag, which he used as aglove.

He rolled his eyes. "Don't be so dramatic. It could be ketchup. Could I have some tweezers too?" When I had given it to him, he carefully extracted a piece of paper from the envelope. "Envelope is addressed to a law firm in Bethesda from a hotel. Looks like a letter inside. Dated August twenty ninth of this year. 'Tonight I am going to meet Jake Elliot Patterson, my first husband, at the Hotel Dime located on Route 270. He will have a room there under the name of Roger Atwood. For the past five years we have had an affair, but I am going to the hotel to break it off. He is abusive and highly dangerous and I am afraid he might kill me. I fully repent what I have done.' Erm, it goes on to say that all possessions are to go to her current husband and it's signed Anne Davies."

I couldn't help shivering slightly. "Well, at least we have what he wants."

"Hotel Dime…" Will frowned. "Hm. I will have to look at some police files."

"And so the game's afoot," I said, grabbing our coats. "Right, sorry, no more clichés," I added in response to his irritated frown.

Will led the way in the "Case Records" room at the police station, going down an aisle, turning left, walking straight, and finally taking down a box labeled "Route 270, Monday, September 5th, 2004". Inside was a single folder with a couple of papers and some pictures of an empty hotel room. The back read "Hotel Dime, 10:30 a.m."

"Anne Davies, twenty two, Caucasian female, missing since August twenty ninth," Will read from the file. "Ah," he exclaimed quietly. "Listen to this: 'was seen in the company of a Caucasian male at around midnight. Male was described as bulky and blonde haired.' Here's a sketch. 'They were seen going to her room. Hotel records later revealed him to have had a room there, but it appeared to not have been used. Checked in at ten of the previous night, checked out by seven, gave name as Roger Atwood.' Well, there we have it," he said, closing the file and returning the box to its place.

"So, he checks in and is careful not to leave any physical evidence of him having been there, right?" I ventured.

"Right. He even pays in cash," Will said, shaking his head. "That's genius."

"In the eye of the beholder," I muttered.

"He must have arrived early and seen the letter, maybe on her table. Then he kills her, hides the body, checks out at a respectably early time and escapes. But then something happens." Will frowned in thought. "He makes a blunder, does something foolish, and the police are onto him- he probably couldn't give a good alibi. They come to search his house and he hides the envelope- the one thing that would incriminate him- in that book. He's safe, but the book is gone, probably sold by someone to a bookshop."

"He tracks it down to this area, attacks at King's, sees my aunt's photo, and here we are." I said, getting excited, "Oh my God, Will, we solved it!" My voice echoed off the high ceilings. "Sorry," I whispered.

He grinned at my enthusiasm. "Well, we've still got to find him, but we've done everything, yeah. Now we've just got to get this to the captain."

A/N: Well, that's another chapter. I think the next one will be the final one. If anyone wants to read more of Mitra and Will, let me know- I've already got some ideas lined up. And please tell me how the characterization and plot are faring. A big thank you to all my reviewers: Anna, well, this is the solution, basically. I hope it makes sense. And Ed-Wood, Mitra does occasionally have spurts of rebellion, which I think is a nice contrast to Will.

RR Please!


	6. Finis

Chapter 5- Finis

A/N: Has anyone noticed that "Finis" sounds like "Feeny", as in Mr. Feeny of "Boy Meets World"? Just a random thought…

Captain Anderson wasn't exactly overjoyed to see us, but he listened closely to Will's account of what had happened and took the book and letter that he offered.

"Fine," he barked, getting out of his old creaky chair. "I'll get in touch with some officers. The bastard's probably still in town. When we catch him I'll mention you to the reporters. I'm sure you can find your way out."

Will's jaw tightened, but he gave a curt nod and headed out past Lieutenant Stoker. I, on the other hand, was starting to feel indignant.

"So, that's it? We hand you the solution and this is all the credit we get?"

The captain looked at me in surprise. "What the hell are you talking about? '_We_'? What '_we_'? I don't recall you suddenly turning into Nancy Drew."

"Whatever. _Will_ solves this and all you can say is bye?" I felt a pair of strong hands on my arms, leading me away.

"Now, now, Mitra, it really is nothing."

"How can you say that?"

"Look, Hamilton, you keep your loony partner-"

"Temporary colleague. And she isn't loony. In fact, we were leaving right now, weren't we?"

"Will!"

"Cheers Captain!" He shut the door and steered me down the hall. Finally, I turned to him when he stopped in front of a vending machine.

"Will, what was that?"

"I could ask you the same thing. It's very noble of you to be so concerned about my role in this, but you needn't be." He pulled out some change and selected a Vanilla Coke. "Would you like anything?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, would you like a drink from this machine. You see, you put quarters in here, and the-"

"Will!"

He smiled broadly. "I know what you meant. I have a plan." He whipped out his cell and dialed a number, placing the phone between us so I could listen in.

"…Post," a crackly voice on the other end said.

"Yes, I'd like to place an advert in tomorrow's paper."

"Okay. What would you like?"

"Wanted: antiques book dealer to buy Encyclopedia of Miniature Art. Inquire at 3700 on 24th."

"That all?"

"Yes."

"That's fifteen dollars. How will you pay for this?"

"Er, just send the bill to Johnny Saeed in the Foreign Press Department."

"Have a nice day sir."

"Thank you. Good bye." He chuckled as he hung up. "Saeed's an old friend of mine. He owes me a few favors."

"Won't the thief be suspicious if we just advertise the book like that?"

"No. This set is not very rare, so it is probable that he will be looking out for more copies. Besides, he would never suspect us to be onto him. Ah, but this means I will be skiving physical chemistry and you'll miss your colloquium."

"What a shame. No Frank the T.A. I'll miss him so much," I commented humorously.

"I don't think his own mother misses him," Will muttered sardonically, sending me into a fit of laughter.

Early next morning, at nine to be precise, there was a knock at the door.

Well, it was more like a pounding, really.

"Vicky, girl, can you get that?" Monique groaned from her bed.

I heard Vicky climb down her bunk and open the door.

"What the hell do you want?"

There was a pause, and I froze as a sharp British voice replied, "You're not Mitra."

"Jesus," she muttered. "Mitra, it's Prince William for you."

I reluctantly rolled out of bed and staggered out into the hall. "Will? Do you know what time it is?"

"It's late Mitra."

"Late? It's nine o'clock."

"Exactly."

"I was right in the middle of a dream where David Bowie was saving me from a gang of rowdy Smurfs," I mumbled.

He paused and cocked his head at me, his eyes crinkling and the corner of his mouth tugging up. "No wonder you're majoring in psychology. Come on, I've got some Starbucks in the car. Well? Don't just stand there, get ready! Go on," and he literally pushed me back into my room.

When I emerged he was waiting impatiently in his car outside the dorms. I slid into the warm leather seat and gratefully took the coffee and muffin he thrust my way. Through a miracle of encountering absolutely no early morning accidents on the roads, we were able to reach 24th in less than twenty minutes, where we found 3700 to be a high rise office complex. He led me through the large lobby and up to an even larger office room that took up the entire twentieth floor. It was very spacious and the furniture looked like it was from Theodore's. Windows covered three walls and afforded a very nice view of the city.

"This is my brother's office, although he rarely uses it," Will explained, picking up a large box off of the floor. "He's quite well known in the business world, so that will give us some credibility at least. Your aunt allowed me to use the encyclopedia set." He carefully arranged them on a bookshelf on the left wall. "Now, I'm sure many actual brokers will come, but we're looking for a heavily built, blo-"

"Hey Will, I have a question."

"Ah, I knew your night would be restlessly spent in trying to find flaws in my plan," he replied.

I pretended to ignore his comment. I had only done that half the night actually. "How are we supposed to take down a highly dangerous criminal by ourselves?"

"What time is it?"

"About nine-thirty," I answered, wondering if he had heard my question.

"The captain is out of his office from nine to ten. He checks his messages at eleven. I've observed his habits for some time, you see." He flipped open his cell phone and dialed. We heard Captain Anderson's gruff voice, telling us, in what he obviously thought was a cordial tone, to leave a message after the beep. "Hello Captain, Hamilton here. Just thought you should know that we've captured the man who robbed King's Bookshop and Ms. Whitner's house a few days ago and killed Anne Davies in August. He is here on the twentieth floor of 3700 on 24th if you would like to come down and claim him. Good bye."

"I have a bad feeling about this," I confessed when he had hung up.

"All we need to do is stall him until the captain comes."

"What if he has a gun? Or he doesn't come? Or the captain doesn't come? I'm telling you Will, thi-."

"Mitra, Mitra, Mitra," he said soothingly, placing his hands gently on my shoulders. "Relax. You worry too much and think too little. And don't gawk like that," he added, grinning impishly. "Trust me."

I muttered darkly as he let go and began walking across the room with alacrity, as though he were directing a play. "I am Edward Hamilton, of Hamilton Industries-"

"Is that your brother's name?"

"Yes."

"Can I call you Eddie?"

"No, because you are my secretary." He glanced down at my clothes. "Good thing you're wearing a skirt."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" I demanded, putting my hands on my hips.

He rolled his eyes in irritation. "No need to get in a feminist strop. You look presentable and businesslike is all I meant."

"Uhuh."

"Would you rather that I was the secretary?" He asked exasperated.

I brightened up. "Okay."

"All right then, you're, erm-"

"Ms. Levsky."

"Levsky? Fine. I am Mr. Aubrey."

"Vanya Levsky. And I'll have a Russian accent."

"Whatever." He paused and took out a pair of black rimmed glasses from his coat pocket. "Here. These ought to make you look intelligent."

"Will!"

He put a finger to his lips. "Someone's coming." He picked up a clipboard and settled on the ledge behind the desk, while I sat in the comfortable leather armchair.

"Nice chair by the way."

"Thank you Ms. Levsky," he said, slipping into an Ivy League accent as someone knocked on the door.

"Mr. Aubrey, I believe ve are in business.

Will was right- there were a lot of actual brokers who showed up. We listened politely to them and pretended to study their resumes but hurried them out. Finally, on the fifth try, at three minutes past eleven, we hit the jackpot. A broad-shouldered, blonde man, with small eyes and pale lips, entered the room and introduced himself as Jack Roderick.

"So, Mr. Roderick," I said. "How long ees eet you been as a broker?"

"Oh, 'bout five years ago," he replied easily.

"Ach. And vat you do before that?"

"I was a car salesman. Not a huge leap to bein' an antiques dealer." He guffawed and I attempted a little smile, while surreptitiously glancing at my watch. A quarter past eleven and the captain wasn't here yet. I had to stall him.

"My father vas also in the sales."

"Oh?"

"Yes, in the old country. Russia you know." I leaned back in the chair and assumed a nostalgic look. "Yes. Ve lived in small fishing village on, uh, Vidoslavic river. My father had good business there. Vell, he had to, for there vere ten of us to feed, not counting the cousins. All those fish. The, uh, sole, and tro-"

"Ms Levsky. I think we should move on," Will said firmly, shifting behind me.

I sat up and cleared my throat. "Yes. You vill to please excuse me. Now, ve vant good price for the set. They are quite good. Vat vill you give to us?"

"Well, Ms. Levsky," he said, sitting comfortably back in his chair. "I'm not sure; I'd have to maybe inspect these books first. Can't offer a good price if I can't. You know how it is." He attempted a smile, revealing crooked yellow teeth.

"No, I do not know how eet ees," I replied stiffly. "Mr. Aubrey!" Will came to my side as I snapped my fingers. "Show Mr. Roderick the books."

"Right this way sir."

Only twenty past. I knew this plan wasn't going to work.

"Now here Mr. Roderick, is the 'D' volume. You see how it has dollhouses and daschund clothes. Excellent condition. It's been in Ms. Levsky's family for generations. But I have a question for you sir, which I hope isn't too forward."

"Yeah?" He said, staring at the books, trying to pick out the ones that he had already checked. I saw him reaching for another volume just as I heard some movement in the hallway outside.

"Where did you hide Anne Davies' body, Mr. Patterson?"

The man started violently and staggered against the bookshelf, but he quickly recovered and leapt for Will, who sidestepped him just as the door burst open. Before he knew it, three officers and Lieutenant Stoker, in an amazing show of swiftness, had him on the floor and handcuffed.

Captain Anderson raged over and let out a furious string of profanity at Will, who was looking with satisfaction at the culprit and remained unperturbed even as the captain began a tirade in his ear.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? When I heard that message I thought I was gonna blow my top. You think this is a game or something? You think that just because you know the former commissioner you can play me for a fool? Huh? You think you're some hotshot detective just because you help us out once in a while? Huh? I should arrest you for obstruction of justice, you little punk. I oughta-"

"Please Captain," Will said calmly. "The prisoner is trying to listen to his rights."

I could almost see the debate going on inside the captain's meaty head. Will had tricked him, but, on the other hand, here was the perpetrator of three crimes literally at his feet. His spit-speckled mouth twisted as he came to a decision, and he cursed again while glancing at us.

"Fine, fine. But I want you to know Hamilton, that I ever catch you doing this again, and I'll have you locked up. For good. Don't think I'm gonna be giving you much credit for this. And don't you even try to negotiate, red riding hood," he added to me as I opened my mouth to argue. He stomped out of the room behind the officers, still cursing.

"Red riding hood?"

Will shrugged, a look of amusement on his face. "I think he's finally landed on a nickname for you. It's probably because of your hair."

"Guess so." I took off the glasses and handed them to him. "You knew when they were here, didn't you?"

"The lift is rather squeaky."

"And if they hadn't come?"

"I'm sure you could have gone on about the old country all day." I laughed. "That was a nice touch by the way."

"Thanks."

We made our way to the elevator in what I thought to be a strangely awkward silence. Now that the case was over, I felt like our "temporary colleague"-ship was also over. Neither of us spoke on the drive back to the university. We got out of the car and began walking away from the parking lot.

"I have a class in fifteen minutes," Will said.

"So do I."

"Human Development with Professor Sanders?"

"How'd you know?"

He shrugged. "Monique might have mentioned it."

I grinned and shook my head. "Well," I said after a while."This was…interesting."

"Glad you thought so," he replied.

"Aunt Wendy will be really happy when she gets her Buddha back."

"Erm, they might have to hold it for evidence in the trial."

"Oh. Well, she'll be happy when she gets it back eventually."

"I can imagine."

"You know Will, this was a lot of fun."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, for you it's just a puzzle, but I really enjoyed getting in on the action."

He shrugged and pulled out a Milky Way from his pocket. "Not a lot of action, but all right."

I eyed the candy bar. "You know Will, caffeine and sugar aren't healthy."

He unwrapped it slowly. "Would you rather I smoked for a high?"

"Huh. Good point." We stopped when we reached the middle of the quad. "Well, I have to go that way," I said, nodding towards the older buildings on the left. "So."

He raised an eyebrow and chewed.

"Well, I guess this is it. It was great working with you," I said, smiling. "So, uh, bye." I began walking off when he spoke up.

"That it?"

I turned to him, perplexed. "What do you mean?"

He tossed the empty wrapper in a trashcan. "You said you'd enjoyed it."

"Yeah."

"It's obvious that you'd like to continue."

"You mean, help out in other cases?"

He shrugged, which I took to be a yes.

"But I thought you said you didn't want any partners."

He managed to look slightly abashed. "I did have a partner before. My roommate, Dante. But then he decided to get a girlfriend who doesn't approve of detective work. He started complaining about missing assignments and failing classes from helping me out." He rolled his eyes. "Honestly, I don't know what he was talking about."

"Why'd you lie and tell me you'd never had a partner?"

"I didn't know you well enough then. But, for all your overwhelming perkiness and faux-intelligence-"

"Hey!"

"-You were still very helpful. I've grown rather used to having someone there to admire the way I handle a case."

"Will! You be careful, I just might use my wicked sense of humor on you."

He laughed. "What do you say? Is it a deal?"

"Mm." I bit my lip in thought. This involved certain danger from criminals, investigating rotting corpses, and working with a sharp tongued, egotistical man. "Sure!"

"Good."

"Will," I said as he firmly shook hands with me. "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

He made a face. "Mitra."

"Sorry, no more clichés, right."

Two days later, Anne Davies' decaying body was found in the woods along Route 270. Patterson is currently awaiting trial. Aunt Wendy was so overjoyed about the prospect of getting her Buddha back that she baked brownies for Will, who really enjoyed them. Captain Anderson and Lieutenant Stoker received a lot of attention in the paper, while Will's participation in the case somehow never came up.

And that was the end...

…or was it?

A/N- Wow, this is the first story I have ever finished completely, (choir sings "Hallelujah!"). An effusive thank you to all my reviewers for…well, for reviewing. (How truly eloquent). And also thank you all for liking this story enough to want more of Will and Mitra. I'm so excited to write more. However, there is a little problem: I have two plotlines planned that are not similar but that sort of relate to each other, so I will have to make them different. In doing so, I will probably end up writing two stories so I don't have any overlaps. So, this will take a while. But, I have spring holiday coming up and I will, hopefully, write the entire thing(s) then.

Anyway, thank you to Rae Street, so glad you like this story. Your name reminds me of the Dave Matthews song "Gray Street". Which is good. Mariana, I had a friend from Brazil in high school, and I'd really love to visit the Amazon sometime. Anyway, I'm really happy you like Mitra and Will and the plot. I'll try to make it more interesting next time. Ed-Wood, glad you liked this chapter and this story enough to call it one of your favorites. Also, thanks for saying Mitra and Will are natural. I was afraid they'd come off as plastic. By the way, I saw a little bit of the movie "Ed Wood" the other day, including the part where Johnny Depp turns into a transvestite stripper. No matter how many years of therapy I may go through, that image will never go away. Oish. And Dreamsprite5, thanks for liking the characters and I'll try to make Will even more sarcastic- he might end up sounding really mean, but I see your point. But could you just explain what you mean by "more random"? I'll try to incorporate that too next time. I've reviewed your story "Fiery Past" by the way.

RR please!


End file.
